spun out in a few
minutes."

"I am much obliged to you," said Theodore, "for having so carefully
observed that talent of mine, and given it its due meed of approval."

The friends laughed again at this.

"There is no doubt," said Sylvester, "that society talk is, altogether,
a rather curious thing. The French say that a certain heaviness in our
nature always prevents us from hitting the precise tact and tone
necessary for it; and they may be right, to a certain extent, but I
must declare that the much-belauded _legerete_ and lightsomeness of
French Society puts me out of temper, and makes me feel stupid and
uncomfortable, and that I cannot look upon those _bon mots_ and
_calembours_ of theirs, which are continually being fired off in all
directions, as coming under the class of that 'Society wit' which gives
out constantly fresh sparks of new life of conversation. Moreover, that
peculiar style of wit to which the genuine French 'wit' belongs is, to
me, in the highest degree disagreeable."

"That opinion," said Cyprian, "comes from the very depths of your
quiet, friendly spirit, my dearest Sylvester: but you are forgetting
that, besides the (generally utterly empty and insipid) _bon mots_, the
'Society wit' of the French is, in a great degree, founded on a mutual
contempt of, and jeering and scoffing at, each other (such as at the
present time we call 'chaff,' although it is less good-humoured than
that), which soon passes the bounds of what we consider courtesy and
consideration, and consequently would speedily deprive our intercourse
of all pleasure. Then the French have not the very slightest
comprehension of that wit whose basis is real humour, and it is almost
incomprehensible how often the point of some not very profound, but
superficially funny, little story escapes them."

"Don't forget," said Ottmar, "that the point of a story is very often
completely untranslatable."

"Or is badly translated," said Vincenz. "It so happens that I just
think of a very amusing thing which happened quite recently, and which
I will tell you, if you care to hear it."

"Tell us, tell us! delightful fabulist! valued anecdotist!" cried the
friends.

"A young man," related Vincenz, "whom nature had endowed with a
splendid bass voice, and who had gone upon the operatic stage, was
making his first appearance as Sarastro, in the 'Magic Flute.' As he
was mounting the car, in which he first comes on, he was seized with
such a terr